


biting the bullet

by saintsurvivor



Series: silver bullets 'verse [3]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Betrayal, Eggsy as Guinevere, Emotional Manipulation, Espionage, Gen, Head Injury, Manipulation, Mentioned James Bond, Misdirection, Previous Head Injury, Secrets, Snipers, Spies & Secret Agents, Spy Politics, Trust Issues, Victoria Winslow as Arthur, Violence, loyalty issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsurvivor/pseuds/saintsurvivor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Harry Hart is my ghost,” Eggsy murmurs. “It’s only right that I deal with him,”</p><p> </p><p>or,<br/>an old face returning puts the spanner in the works of the italy mission, but victoria and eggsy have their own agenda in his return. meanwhile, eggsy finds himself struggling with the assignment given to him but not wanting to show it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	biting the bullet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poziomeczka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poziomeczka/gifts), [violentcheese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentcheese/gifts).



> send me prompts n things on tumblr @ [fithertons](http://fithertons.tumblr.com) !!!
> 
> also, special thanks to gabi, who is the greatest and let me bounce ideas and plot points off of her

# biting the bullet

 

“No other news?” Victoria says airily as she signs her reports. **  
**

Eggsy, dressed in a sleek black suit and equally slick emerald tide, makes a noise in the back of his throat, leaning gracefully in the seat opposite Arthur, leg crossed at the knee. In his lap, he’s overlooking the Italy mission plans, glossy file balanced precariously on his knee.

“No yet,” He murmurs.

“Are the mission parameters in place?” Arthur raises an eyebrow, gazing over her file.

“Of course, Arthur,” Eggsy says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a noise scrambler and white noise generator. “I jus’ need to sweep for a few more loose threads,”

“I’m sure you’re going to do your best,” Arthur says with a straight face. She flicks the end of her french braid from her shoulder as Eggsy gives a grin, stretching from his position and making his way over to the liquor cabinet.

“Drink, Arthur?” Eggsy asks, clinking the crystal decanter against the glass. He sweeps a bug detector over the office as he does so, using the decanter as a disguise. He drowns three in a decanter of vodka.

“Two fingers, Guinevere, there’s a good man,” Arthur watches as Eggsy pours four fingers of bourbon, two fingers each, into two glasses, placing the white noise generators and noise scramblers in strategic place.

Arthur watches as Eggsy takes a sip of his, leaning against the cabinet as he tilts his head back against the wood, sighing.

“I have an assignment for you, Excalibur,” Arthur says as Eggsy leans against the side of the chair he’d been sitting on, passing a glass to Arthur before tucking his free hand into his trouser pocket, hip slightly out.

“Somethin’ delicate?” Eggsy says, taking a smooth sip of his bourbon. Arthur leans forward, white silk shirt moving with her movements. Eggsy watches her with mild eyes.

* * *

 

“Less delicate and more-,” Arthur crosses her arms over her chest,leaning on the desk even as Eggsy sips at his bourbon, before shrugging out of his blazer, hooking it gracefully over the back of the chair, black bracers stark against the white of his shirt, black gun holsters resting against his sides and at the small of his back.

The sight is both a reminder and a relief.

“More?” Eggsy raises an eyebrow.

“More _personal_ ,” Arthur says in the end. She leans back, eyes heavy lidded as she takes a generous sip from her bourbon.

“Ah,” Eggsy says, raising an eyebrow and smoothing his free hand down his front, feeling the elastic of the bracers and the heaviness of the shoulder holsters. “Do we have viable intel on their whereabouts?”

“007 was very helpful in acquiring the information, even more so when I mentioned that it was _Guinevere_ who had requested the intel,” Arthur glances at him, and her mouth is quirking in amusement. “Am I to guess that cross agency relations are being well-maintained?”

Eggsy laughs throatily, thinking of that night in Paris, of a well ruined bed and an expensive hotel room that MI6 had paid for.

“Cross agency relations are going _very_ well, Arthur,”

“He said he’d do anything for the _darling and ever lovely Guinevere_ ,” Arthur laughs around the rim of her glass.

“007 has always had a flair for the dramatics,”

“Yes, the bill MI6 recieve from your exploits are _explosive_ ,” Arthur says dryly.

“At least you aren’t footin’ the bill,” Eggsy laughs. “But he received the information?”

“That man of yours is a miracle worker, but don’t tell him I said that, his head is far too big to fit into the MI6 agency building as it is,” Arthur digs the edge of her nail into a small compartment in the middle of her desk, popping a small rectangle piece of wood off.

“Merlin should be more careful in what he does during the lab,” Arthur murmurs. “We’re unsure whether he knows how the marks whereabouts or is just searching for proof of life, but; he’s getting _sloppy_ ,”

Arthur takes the small USB stick from it’s resting place, handing it over the Eggsy, who places his almost empty glass of bourbon.

“Eggsy,” Arthur says seriously. Eggsy looks at her. They pause for a moment, both holding the end of the USB stick. “I need to know if you can do this, not just reading the intel, but sending it and interrogating,”

“Victoria,” Eggsy says. His eyes are earnest in a way they always used to be. “I can do this. I _need_ to do this,”

“If you sure,” She says. Her eyes go chilly, staring up at Eggsy who tucks the USB into an inner protected pocket of his blazer, shrugging it on.

“Don’t screw this up, Excalibur,” She says.

Eggsy pauses on the way out, white noise generator and noise scrambler ready to be dismantled in his hands.

“Of course not, Arthur,”

“I have complete faith in you,” Arthur tells him.

“And I have complete faith in the mark falling for it,”

The generator and scrambler crack beneath the heel of Eggsy’s oxford.

“Good luck, Guinevere,”

Neither of them acknowledge the “ _you're going to need it_ ,” all but tacked onto the end.

\--

It’s not hard to scramble the signal on a laptop that Merlin normally uses in the Research & Development lab when he connects the USB stick to the computer.

The files pop up immediately, and Eggsy can’t help but suck in a breath as he sees the sheer amount of information 007 has managed to gather. Medical files are the most recent to be obtained, and Eggsy reads about the long term, six month coma and the complications; a septic infection after the skull fracture had tore the thin membrane of cells, the sometimes slurred speech and the trembling of the left side of the body. Most interestingly however, is the appearance of damage to the brain cells, and doctors had written that a diagnosis of Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy may be correct, considering the patient had suffered several severe concussions in a short amount of time.

They could use that, Eggsy thinks, eyes scanning the files. He scrubs a hand over his mouth, blazer slung over the back of his chair again.

Several symptoms of CTE was _aggression_ and _depression_ , alongside _poor judgement._ If they could break the man, that was, if it was in fact the correct man they had found and not a poor imposter, this would make it easier; he’d be more susceptible to interrogation alongside letting slip information whilst under the threat of torture.

Reading further through the medical file, Eggsy spots a block of text highlighted; they describe the fact that after a severe and traumatic head injury, it _could_ affect the patients behavioural and emotional state; leading them to less sensitive to the emotions of others whilst also having feelings of irritation, anger and selfishness.

If the symptoms were still there, Eggsy thinks, this would be a perfect way to worm into the mark’s mind, warp his thoughts and make him doubt himself. As long as Eggsy gets the information he needs, the mark can go fuck himself for all Eggsy cares.

Eggsy shakes his head, dismissing the mark’s Medical Files and pulling up the geographical locations needed.

Eggsy has to scrub a hand over his face as he gives a dry laugh.

Bastard had been in London this whole time and no one had known.

Eggsy memorizes the address, thinks of the hurt he felt and the pain and wonders if he’d be able to stay objective in this interrogation.

He then slides his eyes to the communication intelligence 007 had managed to hack into. Perhaps there was a way to remain objective as well as tempting the target into Kingsman and have Eggsy not be connected with his return, meaning the mark would be more inclined to trust Eggsy, especially if he approaches the interrogation in the right way, that is, making sure he doesn’t know he’s being manipulated until Eggsy has him under the knife, where he can make it _hurt_.

Eggsy clicks out of the files, pulling out the USB stick and slipping it back into his inner blazer pocket. He erases any signs of the files presence in the computer, implanting a fake file on the The Black Hand mission in Italy with information Merlin and the organisation already knows.

 _{change of plans}_ Eggsy sends to Arthur over their encrypted line.

 _{i trust your judgement}_ Even though the line is heavily encrypted, they still use codes and never talk about the exact intel. They’d be stupid not to do so.

Eggsy smiles, baring too many teeth to be polite as he heads to the gun range.

He’s looking forward to this.

\--

The mission in Italy is postponed for the foreseeable in the light of Arthur and Eggsy receiving the information on the mark, and then later receiving more information on another target in partnership to The Black Hand and their trafficking rings.

Eggsy keeps 007 running ragged with asking him for more information until the MI6 agent is forced to say that he’s no other means of gathering intel as they’ve gathered all they can, however, several of James’ own men are keeping watch and will tell James if the previous target so much as sneezes.

“Thanks, James,” Eggsy murmurs down the phone even as he lines up his scope.

Bedivere, a tall soft spoken man that reminds Eggsy strangely of Idris Elba, is his watch on this particular mission. Eggsy had mainly chosen Bedivere for this because of his quiet nature and his tendency to keep things to himself unless they were a danger to himself. Eggsy could admire that trait.

Bedivere side eyes Eggsy for a moment. Eggsy keeps his eyes on the scope, watching how the target, Xandra Neils, a mother of two, widowed for six years and head of a massive human trafficking ring in The Black Hand’s pocket, moves around her New York apartment. Eggsy thinks of how one of the girls had looked like Daisy and has to lift his finger off of the trigger before he pulls the trigger far too soon.

“ _I’m just glad the intel helped_ ,” James says softly. There is a soft note to his voice that Eggsy doesn’t look into.

He’s scared too.

“It worked wonders, we’re keepin’ ‘im under surveillance for now,” Eggsy murmurs, watching as Neils opens her laptop, the glow casting shadows on her arching cheekbones even with the relative green cast of the binocular sniper scope.

 _“You’re not alone, are you?_ ”

“Not in the slightest,” Eggsy says promptly, lining up as Neils moves into a clean shot position. “Target acquired, clean shot, permission to shoot,”

“Permission to shoot granted,”  Bedivere murmurs even as James makes a noise of understanding. The phone goes dead even as Eggsy breathes in, and then, with a slow exhale, tugs the trigger. Xandra Neils seems to be in brief suspended animation as a small round hole opens in her immaculate forehead, her lovely head slowly slumping back followed by the rest of her body as she slumps to the floor.

“Target down, Strike Delta ready for moving in,” Eggsy murmurs.

[ _Strike Delta moving in_ ] Rosaline Johnson murmurs quietly into the comms as she and two of her agents slip into Neils’ apartment.

“Copy that, Delta, gather all the intel you can,”

[ _Roger, Excalibur_ ]

Eggsy and Bedivere watches as Agent Johnson and her team quietly ransack the apartment of all it’s intel and valuables, making it look like a robbery gone wrong. Planting fake biological identity marks as they go, Johnson and her team are in and out in under ten minutes; a personal best.

[ _Information secure, Delta extracting_ ]

“Copy Delta, Excalibur moving out,” Eggsy murmurs as he tucks the phone in his pocket, Bedivere collapsing the scope even as Eggsy starts to stripe the rifle and pack it away into a reinforced briefcase.

As Bedivere and Eggsy seamlessly move into the street, blending with the thousands of Americans littering the street, Bedivere leans close to Eggsy’s ear as they both slip off their glasses.

As Eggsy watches, eyes only flitting down, Bedivere brings out a white noise generation and a noise scrambler. In the din of the busy street, it’s all too easy to hide their conversations.

“Merlin has been making some unsettling comments about you,” Bedivere starts in a hushed tone, pressing close to Eggsy and wrapping an arm around his waist as a disguise for how close they were, heads bent almost intimately.

“Merlin is paranoid,” Eggsy murmurs mildly.

“Merlin is _right_ ,” Bedivere corrects softly. “He’s starting to make connections between you and Arthur,”

“Need I remind you, Bedivere,” Eggsy mutters curtly. “That you had been on extra surveillance because they thought you to be a turncoat?”

“They, meaning Merlin and Gawain,” Bedivere says, leaning a little closer. His hand is broad and warm on the expanse of Eggsy’s ribs.  “You and Arthur suspect something don’t you? About Merlin?”

“Not everything is as it seems, Bedivere,” Eggsy murmurs. “Pay attention to the shadows, they’re everywhere at least,”

“Be careful,” Bedivere warns just as softly. “Not everything is as you think, either,”

Eggsy smiles slyly at Bedivere, who stills for a moment, as if he’s suddenly realizes he might have bitten off more than he could chew.

“Things are about to change, Bedivere,” Eggsy murmurs, standing up on tiptoe to breathe the words softly into Bedivere’s ear. Bedivere shivers, clutching Eggsy’s upper arms. “Watch _everyone_ ,”

“Including you?”  Bedivere murmurs as well, turning his head. His eyes lock with Eggsy's. “ _Excalibur_?”

Eggsy gives a soft laugh, slipping off his tip toes so he’s standing properly, not even coming up to Bedivere’s chin.

“ _Especially me_ ,”

\--

He receives the text at 0300.

The curtains are still drawn, and the moonlight only helps to cast shadows that make him paranoid as he sips out of a large coffee mug. His hand shakes as he brushes his fingers through his hair, not weighted down with hair gel or any other product as he stares, listless, at the beige wall.

He’s been in this house, an old outdated MI6 Safe House at that, for nigh on three months after returning from Kentucky, following false leads and ghosts in the machines. Now, he’s not even sure what he’s trying to find apart from himself.

He’s just finished the last of the cooling coffee when his phone, sitting by the side of his mug, buzzes violently, the screen lighting up.

_Time to come home, old friend._

Is all the text message says, no identifying marks. He looks at the phone and knows that nobody should know this number. He’s kept it safe and encrypted as much as he could. Nobody should have this number that he doesn’t know about.

The second message is just as brief, a simple string of numbers that makes him still.

_#901546_

No other messages and no way to tell him who it was.

But he already knows. Only three people know what that identification code means, himself and two others and one, as far as he’s heard, is dead.

He stares at the phone until the screen goes dark, the message dissipating from view even as the string of numbers keep flashing back up at him from the dark.

He sighs.

Time to go back to work after all, he thinks grimly.

\--

Victoria looks at Delta Strike Team, all of them outfitted in their combat gear and standing at attention in three lines in front of her desk. Rosaline Johnson, eyes cold and face blank, stands forward as Captain.

“I want him in our custody,” Arthur says quietly. Johnson blinks, not even making a move. Arthur isn’t too cold to know that Johnson doesn’t unsettle her; Rosaline Johnson is a fearsome woman with a history of being Special Ops.

“Any other intel?” Johnson asks.

Arthur shakes her head, handing over the glossy file.

“It’s a capture mission, tranqs only, and you’re to contact Excalibur when your object is achieved, he has main authority for this,”

“Rendezvous point?” Behind Johnson, Fiona Dulans asks.

“Point C,” Arthur says. “Excalibur will be in site to welcome you and take the mark into holding,”

“Yes, Arthur,” Johnson nods sharply. She dismisses her team with a nod and a sharp look.

“All due respect, Victoria,” Johnson says, leaning closer. Arthur leans forward, ice slipping down her spine. “Are we sure Excalibur can handle this mission? He was- after all, close to the man,”

Arthur sighs, leaning back again into the back of her chair.

“Your concerns are noted, Johnson,” Arthur  says. “If only because I've had the same ones, but Excalibur has assured me he's more than up to the task,”

“That means nothing,” Johnson says flatly.

Arthur raises a cold eyebrow.

“And that is nothing that you should be concerned about,”

“When it involves my team,” Johnson hisses viciously. “Then I am to be concerned if something can compromise this mission,”

Johnson turns on her heel, slamming the door shut.

Arthur sighs as her clock trembles on the wall.

\--

“I don’t trust her,” Dulans tells Johnson as Johnson comes storming out of the room. Johnson looks at her, seeing the curve of her cheekbone as she sucks on her tongue, eyebrow pinched in distrust.

“Neither do I,” Johnson admits to her second. Dulans makes a noise in the middle of her throat.

“Do we talk to Merlin?” Dulans asks as they fall into step together, heads bent. The other team mates have already dispersed, knowing better than to face Rosaline Johnson after she’s got a bee in her bonnet.

They fall silent as Percival and Gawain passes them, talking about their new mission in Zimbabwe. Johnson and Dulans watch them pass with cautious eyes. Only when they see Percival and Gawain round the corner, their voices following them, do they start talking again.

They can’t take any chances.

“I don’t know, Fiona,” Johnson says quietly. Dulans reaches down, tangling her fingers effortlessly with Johnson’s. “But something about this stinks,”

“Maybe it’s time to talk to him, Ros,” Dulans advises quietly.

“Do you think we can trust him?” Johnson murmurs.

“No,” Dulans tells her honestly. “But I _know_ we can trust Lancelot,”

\--

“You know that's not the plan anymore,” Eggsy says from the corner shrouded in shadow.

Arthur laughs, turning around and smiling at Eggsy.

“ _We_ know that,” Arthur tells him, a smirk curving her grin. “But, I find I want to know how much he’s kept up with his training,”

“Oh?” Eggsy raises an eyebrow, sauntering towards the chair and flopping himself into it. “Have you considered reinstatin’ him?”

Arthur turns back to her desk, pen clicking quietly in the loom.

“I’m not sure,” She admits after a while. Her face is pinched with touch. She swivels her pen between her hands, Eggsy watching her closely. “If he can show that he hasn’t been compromised or that he is, in fact, who he is, than yes, it’s logical he’ll be reinstated, if not-,”

She slants a look through her peripheral vision at Eggsy, whose fists are clenching around the arms of the chair.

“Would you like me to give the task to someone else?” She asks him kindly. “You needn’t have his blood on your hands,”

“What would it matter?” Eggsy says in the end. Arthur can’t say anything to that.

“Harry Hart is my ghost,” Eggsy murmurs. “It’s only right that I deal with him,”

**Author's Note:**

> send me prompts n things on tumblr @ [fithertons](http://fithertons.tumblr.com) !!!


End file.
